


what you really are

by delta_capricorni



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Other, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_capricorni/pseuds/delta_capricorni
Summary: When Byleth awakens from her five-year slumber, she finds her body transformed by the power of her Crest.[AU w GDxCF]
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	what you really are

**Author's Note:**

> directly inspired by this artwork by @Tesereil: https://twitter.com/Tesereil/status/1303523168016048130 // thank you for reading!!
> 
> (you can also find me @deltacapricorn :B)

_Wake up! …I said, wake up! Must I always be taking care of you like a child?_

Everything hurt. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of her being _hurt_. Byleth felt impossibly heavy.

_…Byleth? You must wake up. Something is terribly wrong. Our body… your form…_

That voice… she couldn’t help but feel like she’d heard it before, not too long ago…

_You’ve forgotten who I am? After saving your life countless times?! You ungrateful little… Hmph. No matter. The issue at hand is far, far worse. So please, Byleth, just wake up already…_

\--  


Byleth awoke to the sound of rushing water. She cracked open an eye, which felt like it was filled with years of accumulated sand and silt, and soon confirmed that her eyelids were indeed full of dirt. She was mostly submerged in a river, which paid no heed to her presence as it swirled about and past her, yet she could barely feel it against her skin. Her arms felt weighed down in the strangest manner, like they’d grown longer and more unwieldy. She didn’t have the energy to raise to her face, so she ungracefully dunked her head into the water instead to wash her face and try to stir herself into wakefulness.

“What the hell is that…?”

A human voice? She lifted her head to look for its source. The surroundings were familiar, yet she couldn’t quite place where she was. She caught sight of movement in a clearing by the trees—a villager.

“Is that…” The villager took only one more step before freezing in terror. “Monster! A monster! Help!”

Instinctively Byleth’s fighting spirit returned to life, filling her with renewed strength. Heaving herself out of the river, she clambered onto the banks and swung her body—still heavy, even without the waters gushing around her—in a desperate attempt to locate the monster. Where was her sword?

She looked back toward the villager, but they had run in the exact opposite direction from her and disappeared into the forest. The energy that had so quickly filled her now dissipated just as rapidly, and she dropped onto all fours in exhaustion. Suddenly starving and parched, she leaned into the river to quench her thirst.

That’s when she saw the monster. A mop of pale-green hair, obscuring a scaly white face, perched upon a hulking reptilian form. She lifted an arm; the monster lifted a malformed wyvern-esque wing, one that bore fingerlike stubs rather than claws at its tips and whose webbing barely stretched across the fingers. She leaned forward onto her forelimbs and tentatively stretched a new set of muscles in her lower back; in the river’s reflection a stumpy tail wagged pathetically. A red orb glowed in the creature’s chest, bearing the faint glow of the Crest of Flames. The bony plates around it resembled the color of her Sword.

So she was the monster, after all.

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing deep down that this was too grotesque to be a nightmare, desperately trying to recall her most recent memories. Falling into darkness, falling, a white dragon engulfing the earth in flames, falling, reaching out, her students covered in blood, among them the face of a boy she once cared about, his voice calling out for her as she fell into that impenetrable darkness.

 _Claude_.

A mighty roar thundered across the Fódlan skies. Byleth caught sight of a brilliant white wyvern, wings perfectly formed and casting an enormous shadow along the earth. Perhaps she felt a sense of kinship with the beast, or perhaps she knew she had nowhere else to go. But she decided to follow it, and when her eyes fell upon the ruins of Garreg Mach Monastery, all her memories came rushing back, and with them, the memory of the promise she and her Golden Deer had made. She had no idea what day (or year) it was, but she knew she had nobody else to turn to. Her father’s death was still fresh in her mind.

Her body barely cooperated with her as she struggled toward the monastery. Maybe she should give up. Her bones ached from the additional weight, her nerves couldn’t communicate with the unfamiliar tendons and ligaments, she struggled to put the sight of this mutated self out of her mind. Maybe…

A sudden gust of wind buffeted her, though her new skin protected her from flying pebbles and debris. The steady beats of powerful wings announced the presence of the white wyvern, alighting reservedly before her. Byleth raised a wing-arm to protect herself, but lost her balance and stumbled, humiliated.

 _Little one_ , the wyvern rumbled. Byleth was startled to interpret the infrasonic roars as language. _Your form is most unusual. You are neither wyvern nor human. You resemble the Immaculate One, and yet…_

“Can you help me?” Byleth croaked, flinching at her own voice. “I’m afraid. I don’t know who can help.”

_Khalid is in the Goddess Tower. I believe it is you for whom he has been waiting, all these years._

“Years? …Khalid?” As soon as the name left her lips, she knew. The recognition filled her with vigor, and she rose, unsteadily but committed. The wyvern nodded in acknowledgement, and promptly flew away.

The sun was touching the horizon when Byleth finally struggled up all the stairs of the Goddess Tower. Her limbs were about to give way beneath her, but she forced herself onward. Yet as she neared the top floor, she was suddenly barraged by an onslaught of anxieties. What if he didn’t recognize her? What if he, too, only saw a monster? What if he, in his fear, raised his bow and arrow—

“Teach?”

A man stood where a window once overlooked the monastery, the glow of the setting sun casting him in gold. Byleth saw a hundred emotions flicker across those emerald eyes as they fell upon her, and she seized up in fright. He was taller, older, more scarred than she remembered, but it was him. It was him. He carefully approached her like one would a wild animal, slowly extending a gloved hand toward her.

“You’re not afraid?” It came out unintentionally as a growl, but she was more shocked than he. Still, his hand froze midair as he paused in his steps.

“That is you, isn’t it? Byleth?” Claude said quietly. Then, with a mild smirk, “What took you so long?”

She closed her eyes as she laid her cheek in his outstretched palm. Something welled up from within her, and as tears began to fall, her Crest lit the space between them. She felt another hand find its way to the back of her head, and, gently pulling her forward, Claude brought Byleth into a warm embrace.

“I won’t lie; I was sure you’d change at least a little in five years, but… well, remember what I told you?” he whispered into her hair, letting his heat flow into her cold scales. “No matter who—or what—you really are, I’ll always be on your side. You can’t count on much in this world, but you can count on that.”

“Claude,” she gasped, her voice struggling to regain its humanity, “Claude. I missed you.”

\--

When the other Golden Deer arrived at Garreg Mach after sundown, they were alarmed by the bandits fleeing the premise, yelling incoherently about a monstrous mutant and an archer with wicked aim. They were then just as astonished to encounter Byleth, admittedly somewhat repulsed as well, and she couldn’t help but hide under the protective wing of Claude’s wyvern as Claude explained to his former classmates all he knew about Rhea, the dragon they saw five years ago, and the Immaculate One.

_They will grow used to your appearance soon enough. You will find that humans adapt most easily._

“Will they, though?” Byleth mumbled. “At least they’ve seen other wyverns before. Whereas I—"

 _Hush, little one. Know that both Khalid and I have experienced much prejudice for our unusual coloration. While your case is exceptional, I also sense that your beloved students are pure of heart. They will adapt_.

Byleth leaned into the leathery membrane of the wyvern’s wing, much thicker and more robust than her flimsy filmlike membranes. “Do you have a name, by the way? And a gender?”

The wyvern snorted. _Gender is a human construct, but if you must, you may refer to me with female-designated words. As for names, a queen of Almyra long ago bequeathed to me the name of Simurgh._

“Simurgh?” she tested on her tongue, which increasingly felt incapable of Fódlanese in any case, never mind Almyran, or wyvern-ese. “Are you an Almyran wyvern, then?”

Simurgh craned her neck under her wing to stare pointedly at Byleth. _Is that a joke? Khalid is half—_

“Teach, you still in there, or has Simurgh suffocated you?” Claude lifted Simurgh’s wing with ease and grinned at Byleth’s crouching form in the shadows. “I spoke with the other Deer, and we’ve decided we’re all going to try to help figure out what’s happened to your body. Lysithea suggested it might be a Crest-related mutation, while Leonie mentioned Linhardt once told her about a giant turtle at the bottom of a lake who could help? …Anyway, they’ve really missed you, Teach. Will you come say hello?”

Something about the way his voice cracked on _hello_ broke Byleth’s unbeating heart, and her Crest shone out in response. But it brought a smile to Claude’s face, and the Crest faded from view.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he smiled, and held out a hand. Byleth took it gingerly, trying to keep as much weight off of him as she could manage, and crawled out from under Simurgh’s wing.

She found her former students sitting somberly around a campfire, but as soon as they caught sight of her, they came running over with shouts of “Professor!” They skidded to a halt a few feet from her, with Claude simply standing to the side, arms crossed. For a moment, there was only the crackling of fire.

Then, before Byleth could speak, Raphael strode forth and, with a strength only fortified by the years that had passed, swept her completely off the ground in an unbridled expression of joy.

“Professor, we really missed you!” he laughed, swinging her in a circle before he gently set her back on the ground, allowing for the other students to rush forth without hesitation. Hilda leapt and threw her arms around Byleth’s neck, her short stature enabling her to dangle as if off a tree branch. Leonie offered a rare hug as well, overcome with memories of her professor and former mentor. Lorenz was cautious at first, but a reproachful glance from Lysithea, who’d glued herself to Byleth’s side, encouraged him to step forth to greet Byleth. He led with a noble kiss on the cheek, followed by a slightly more unbecoming meltdown into tears. Ignatz and Marianne, still the most timid of the Deer, politely waited their turns for a space at her side to approach, but enjoyed the familiar comfort of Byleth’s presence all the same.

When Byleth next attempted to speak, she found herself overcome with tears—of joy, of sadness, of confusion, of loss above all. Though she knew nothing of the five years that had eclipsed their lives, she knew much had been lost, within herself and amongst them, and she still missed her father so dearly.

On behalf of the Deer Claude held her close, whispering _it’s okay, Byleth, I’m here_ into her matted hair.

\--  


As Byleth learned about the years of war, students from the other houses defected and appeared at Garreg Mach upon hearing of her return. They, too, had to have their emotions tempered with the little knowledge Claude had, but through this repeated practice he’d refined his speech about her state of being, and soon enough they were ready to trust her ability to overthrow Edelgard and Hubert, and recover Dimitri and Dedue.

The members of the Church of Seiros were slower to embrace Byleth’s new form. Alois bore his widest grin to hide his discomfort, Cyril left no room in his mind for anyone other than Rhea, while Catherine and Shamir kept their distance. The Gatekeeper did his best to grin and bear it. Manuela continually averted her gaze but otherwise managed to converse with her like old times. Hanneman was the complete opposite, delighting in this opportunity.

“Did you see the way Seteth and Flayn were gawking at you?” Hanneman boldly asked Byleth one day as they sat in the courtyard outside the dining hall. The last thing she wanted was to frighten the weary church knights and noncombative staff as they ate and socialized in the only safe refuge from the war.

“I suppose I’m immune to it at this point,” Byleth answered, focused on balancing a fork between her forelimbs. Hanneman, in a move both gentlemanly and fatherly, took the fork and fed her directly.

“I don’t mean it in that way,” he said, and Byleth was confused as to whether he was referring to his earlier question or his current actions. Then he continued, “Those two are definitely hiding something about your… condition. When your Crest ignited, I could see it in their eyes. We must interrogate them!”

But Byleth only shook her head. “We have to focus on finding Rhea. Several years ago Claude found a text on the Immaculate One, which Seteth promptly confiscated. Then, the Immaculate One appeared the day I disappeared. Claude believes that that was Rhea.”

“The Immaculate One is Rhea?” Hanneman chewed over the words. “Preposterous… is what I wish to say, and yet, I faintly recall seeing a related document, back when Tomas was still our librarian…”

“Yoo-hoo!” Manuela cut across the grass, waving something in her hand. She instinctively cast her eyes downward as she approached, but nevertheless she proudly shoved a parchment into their faces.

“What’s this?” Hanneman inquired, carefully unfolding it to reveal a map.

Manuela giggled, revealing her tipsiness. “I swiped this off of Seteth’s desk when he wasn’t looking. It seemed rather important, and—I know, I’m one to talk, but—I’m still annoyed at how he refuses to speak with our friend Byleth here, so I took it as payback. Think it could be useful, Hanneman?”

“My word,” he muttered under his breath. “If this is real—and I doubt Seteth would have annotated this so thoroughly if it weren’t—then this tells us the location of the fabled Wind Caller. But why would—”

“Professors, hello,” Claude strode toward them casually. His timing was too perfect for his appearance to have been coincidental, but nobody would dare accuse Duke Riegan of Leicester of eavesdropping. Byleth’s Crest materialized as he approached, to her embarrassment and to Hanneman’s utter delight.

Claude simply smiled and softly poked Byleth, joking, “We’ve got to figure out how to control that, or else you’ll give our position away in battle. I mean, on top of restoring you to human form, of course.”

The thought of battle made Byleth feel downcast again. On or off the battlefield she could no longer serve as their professor, their strategist, their bedrock of strength; not with this form. The Sword of the Creator was still nowhere to be found, and Sothis hadn’t returned since she’d woken her up. Unless…

The Crest of Flames blazed again, brighter this time, its heat licking at air particles as they evaporated.

“Oh, good, we’ll take that as a yes,” Manuela smirked.

“Sorry?” Byleth glanced at the three of them, suddenly finding them all watching her.

“Ah, you really were lost in your own world there,” Claude chided. “I was reading up about Saint Macuil. The myths around his death are ambiguous, but there’re rumors that somewhere in the sands of Sreng, he left behind weapons crafted for the original Ten Elites. And it just so happens that this map—” he waved the parchment that Manuela had swiped “—pinpoints the location of some ruins of a sacred sort. And maybe a giant monster, but, we’ve dealt with plenty of those before. So, you in, Teach?”

Byleth brightened momentarily at the thought of adventure, but simply the act of standing made her a bit dizzy. The two professors rushed to her side to hold her steady, coming up only to the Crest on her chest. “I… I can’t. Not like this…”

Claude held out an arm. When Byleth took it, her wing-hand nearly covered the length of his forearm, but he didn’t shy away. He remained resolute, allowing Byleth to support herself, to stand tall again.

“It’ll be like old times,” he grinned. “Plus, the Sword of the Creator’s missing, so maybe we can find you a replacement. And don’t try to make any excuses about getting there; I’ve asked a few of our Blue Lion nobles to help link up a safe route, and I’ve factored in additional travel time for your level of mobility.”

While Byleth searched for words to respond with, Hanneman interjected mildly, “I’ll round up the other Golden Deer and ask them to meet you by the gates in a couple hours. Manuela, you’ll come with?”

“Oh, right, yes, of course. Take care, you two!” Manuela scooted over to Hanneman and they promptly disappeared into the dining hall.

Now it was just the two of them, Byleth and Claude, in the courtyard.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Claude remarked airily.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Byleth continued her earlier line of thought. “With this body I can’t guide you on the battlefield. I can scarcely walk for more than an hour without becoming exhausted, never mind trying to fight, and with these ungainly wing-things.” She raised a limb to demonstrate.

To her surprise, Claude seized her limb in his own hand, wrapping his fingers around her thumb-claw. “Aw, Teach, I appreciate your undying concern for your students,” he grinned. “But we’re not students anymore; we’re veterans of war. You protected us at Garreg Mach. Now will you let us protect you?”

Byleth was at a loss for words. For the first time since reuniting with Claude she studied him carefully. He had really grown into his most handsome features, and his new way of styling his hair and growing the hints of the beard, unimaginable on his 17-year-old self, now only accentuated his attractiveness. Some of his aging could be attributed to the heavy tolls of war and diplomacy—his slightly sunken cheekbones, the bags under his bright eyes—but how bright they were, nonetheless. And his smile… was he out of practice, or had he practiced it too much on those Leicester allies worse than Adrestian enemies? Even so, this smile he wore for her now was different. It was genuine, and it was for her.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Now he bore a cheeky grin, which also she hadn’t realized she’d missed until now. Keeping his hand on hers, he helped to navigate a forkful of her forgotten meal between her limbs and to test how to balance it without making her feel ashamed. In that moment, as frustrated and helpless Crest-deformed body made her feel, she was also content, and stayed with him all afternoon.

\--

The journey to Sreng was long but not as arduous as Byleth had feared. She rested in a specially crafted pinewood caravan, while her students traveled alongside at a comfortable walking pace. Hilda was all too happy remain seated and drive the draft horses pulling the caravan, with occasional support from mounted units on steeper slopes or rockier paths. Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix also accompanied them, to facilitate the crossing into Faerghus territory, and, Byleth and Claude knew, to keep an eye out for their beloved prince. Sylvain and Ingrid scouted ahead on their horse and pegasus while Felix kept careful watch of Byleth, never leaving her side, in lieu of Claude who lead the way at the front of the pack.

At night, when the students were fast asleep, Byleth would sit alone under the moonlight, stretching her wings and relearning the contours of her body. Her lower back ached as she practiced whipping her tail and her upper back strained to carry out her strenuous attempts at flexing and flapping her wings, but it was all she could do to strengthen her body. She wanted to support her students in battle, and in life.

Then, the night before they reached the deserts of Sreng, “You look like you’re having fun. May I join?”

“Claude!” she almost shouted in surprise, barely keeping her voice down so as not to alert the others. “Ah, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, no, not at all. I couldn’t sleep. Well, I haven’t really had a good night’s rest in the past five years, to be honest. But I thought I heard something outside the tent, and lo and behold, I see my friend, dancing under the light of the moon.”

“What? You call this dancing?” Byleth waved around her limbs, nearly batting Claude in the process. But before she could apologize, he took both wingtips in his hands, and began to step in formation. The memory of the Grand Ball came flowing back to her, and without thinking she felt her body move along with him. She was still tripping over her own feet, five years and much unexpected growth later, but they fell into an easy rhythm, accompanied by the chirping of crickets and rustling of the savanna grass.

Without warning Claude placed a hand on the chestplate with the Crest of Flames etched into it, and it grew warm in response to his touch. Some of that warmth traveled to Byleth’s face, too. She was certain he had acted purely out of curiosity, and yet she couldn’t help but feel it was a little more than that.

“It’s just like I remembered,” he said after a moment. Byleth tilted her head at him inquisitively. “You really don’t have a heartbeat.”

Now she was really blushing. “How did you… when…”

“Oh! Um.” A similar flush crept onto Claude’s face. “I guess it was when you merged with Sothis and slashed up Solon into a pile of noodles. You were completely knocked out afterward, and I didn’t feel confident asking any of the other Deer to help carry you back to the monastery, and…”

They both fell silent. Suddenly Byleth was acutely aware of how much larger she was than the human beside her. For all the strength he embodied physically and symbolically, he would never be able to do that again. She felt herself sag in defeat, her transformation weighing more heavily on her than ever.

Watching his friend carefully, Claude spoke up. “I won’t pretend to be able to understand or relate to at all how you’ve been feeling ever since you woke up like this. But I can guess that you probably hate your body, and your Crest for doing this to your body. This probably won’t help much, then, but I wonder if the Crest of Flames is in… or, _is_ your heart, if that makes any sense. I don’t know how that’d physically be possible. But if that’s the case, then I wonder if the Crest, your makeshift heart, was trying to protect you, during those long five years you were asleep. That was also right after Jeralt… yeah. I think you know what I’m getting at. …Actually, that probably hurt more than helped. Sorry, Teach! Haha…”

In that moment, Byleth was overtaken by a strange urge—was it due to the Crest’s animalizing tendencies, or was it _her_?—to lean down and nuzzle her oldest friend in the chest, the way Simurgh did sometimes after a long day of training. She had always been profoundly ambivalent toward her Crest and the powers she’d never asked for, but even as Claude purported to not understand, he captured—and soothed—her feelings in a way she couldn’t have on her own. Claude’s shock was soon replaced with laughter as he ran a hand through her hair, the way he’d run his hand along Simurgh’s antler.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Teach?” he grinned, pressing his cheek against hers. They stayed like that for a while, Claude humming some foreign melody, Byleth idly wondering if this would’ve happened if she were still human. It was a thought that was only mildly alarming, and a fleeting one in the end.

\--

As soon as they crossed the boundary from grasslands to desert, a primordial shriek pierced the arid air, and Byleth’s Crest flared in response. Its red glow enveloped and coursed through her, seeping into her flesh and pushing out from inside her bones. Searing pain rippled throughout her muscles and nerves.

“Teach!” she heard Claude’s voice from faraway, drowned out by the earth quaking beneath her feet…

A gargantuan worm erupted from beneath the sand and threatened to crush her students in one fell swoop. Their cries of surprise and fear filled her ears and sudden rage filled her heart, anger at her helplessness, anger at this form, anger welled up inside her belly and—

A blinding blast of energy burst forth from her, decimating the worm and sending wet shards of its carcass thumping into the sand. There was an awed silence. As Byleth’s vision cleared she realized she was towering above the students from a bit higher than usual. Suddenly she was exhausted; she felt herself tipping over, and as she caught herself with one arm she realized her fingers had fully extended into wingtips, and the membrane between them had thickened. She must’ve transformed further…

“Professor, stay put!” Felix unsheathed his sword while Ingrid and Sylvain readied their lances. “There are phantom warriors here. We’ll defend you while the rest try to find the source of their magic.”

Byleth wanted to protest, but all the strength had left her, and she could barely focus on keeping an eye on the rest of her students, branching out in all directions. Ignatz’s and Leonie’s horses struggled through the sand, but their arrows had enough precision for stunning strikes, allowing Lorenz to burn the warriors into ashes or Raphael to punch the worms into oblivion. Hilda’s heavy armor allowed her to run straight into combat, with Lysithea following in her shadow and following up with shadowy magic, Marianne healing them both from a safe distance, and Claude picking off warriors preying on Marianne.

Something was trying to connect with Byleth. Her Crest, faint as it felt, was responding to something. Byleth peered into the distance, catching sight of a massive vortex of sand that obscured everything contained within it. Something was calling to her from within, something ancient and familiar.

“Claude! It’s in there!” she called out to him.

“What? Seriously?!” he yelled back. _If you’re sure, little one_ , Simurgh added, _then we have no choice._

With a great roar, Claude and Simurgh pitched steeply toward the sandstorm, directing the others to it. Byleth and the three Lions moved in a defensive formation toward it as well, though the Deer had picked off most of the humanoid opponents. Once they approached, the mages concentrated their energies together and projected a beam of magic directly at the swirling sands, forming an aperture just large enough for Byleth and the rest to dash into its center.

When they all made it through, they found the Wind Caller awaiting them in the peaceful center of the buffeting vortex. Though at first glance he appeared more to be a greyscale facsimile of the Immaculate One, in lieu of reptilian jaws and leathery wings he sported an odd beak and feathery wings, which protected him from the sand. Nor did he need to open his beak when he began to speak to them.

“I have been awaiting your arrival…” The voice was like a contained sonic boom. “The winds carried your scents to me many days ago. One of you has the stink of Sothis… others, the stench of the Ten Elites…”

“You talking to me?” Claude answered. “I'm the grandson of the grandson of the grandson of the elite Riegan. Now tell me who you are!”

The Wind Caller demurred, the sands quivering beneath him. “It is not you, detestable Riegan boy… But I smell…” As he turned toward Byleth, all her students instantly assumed offensive positions around her.

“How cute,” he chuckled, a breathy laugh that flung sand into their faces indiscriminately. “You refuse to flee? Very well. Throw away your little lives for all I care. If you wish to survive, you must destroy me!”

In a beautifully coordinated attack, all the students together launched themselves at the dragon. It was almost dizzying to take in the flurries of arrows, the showers of fire and light, the clashes of weaponry against scaly flesh. Whenever Byleth attempted to muster the energy to attack, the Wind Caller would cry out, his Crest would shine brighter than the sun, and suddenly her Crest’s energy would be depleted. With both frustration and pride, then, she watched from behind as her students conquered their foe without her. As he stumbled to the earth, they all took a collective step back, beholding the fallen beast.

“These humans are your chosen kin?” the Wind Caller mused. “To have come all this way on your behalf, and then to have defeated me… You raised them well, Sothis. And you, Riegan… take this infernal thing.”

A silver sword, more elegant than the finest Silver Sword from Anna’s tastefully curated wares, materialized before them. Though its tip appeared blunt, its broad blade could slice through wind itself.

“This belonged to one of your ancestors, Begalta, and once even felled me,” the Wind Caller rumbled. “So now I bequeath it to you. It may be used in combat, but its original purpose was for execution.”

“What’s the difference?” Claude smirked, though Byleth could feel his earnest curiosity, which in turn masked his slight apprehension, from his furrowed eyebrows and narrowed emerald eyes.

With a casual flick of his plumed tail, the sword descended to lay itself in Claude’s outstretched hands. “Should you find yourself in need of a swift and decisive blow to end a life rendered berserk by a Crest…” Here he looked straight at Byleth, and all present did not need him to finish his sentence.

“Never,” Claude breathed after a collective pause. “We’ll find a… We all believe in Teach.” All the Golden Deer nodded, but Byleth hung her head, unsure of what she felt more ashamed of—witnessing the discussion of the terms of her demise, or her inability to change the form that elicited it.

“You and I are master tacticians both,” the Wind Caller replied in a neutral tone. “When faced with difficult decisions, we must bend in order to save ourselves from breaking.”

“I…” Claude began, momentarily stunned. Then, “A single stick breaks easily, but in a bundle it won’t bend, not even a little bit. I—no, we will never abandon Byleth. We’re going to figure this out together.”

“Suit yourselves. I’ve done all that I can.” The Wind Caller yawned, provoking another tempest of sand. “Ahh, yes, before I forget… assuming Cichol and Cethleann are unwilling to provide guidance… Perhaps Indech will be of some help. He is the wisest and most perceptive of the four of us left behind from the halcyon days of Zanado. I believe you humans call him The Immovable. Something pithy like that…”

The students murmured to each other, wondering who amongst them had raised a similar line of inquiry. Just as Leonie blurted out, “Oh! That’s the name of giant turtle Linhardt told me about!” the Wind Caller flapped his enormous wings, whipping up a flurry of sand in all directions. Everyone took cover, shielding their faces from the debris, and when the coast had cleared, Saint Macuil was gone.

“Pack up, everyone,” Claude called out. “The sooner we get back, the more time we’ll have to rest when we get back to the monastery. Then we’ll set out in pursuit of this apparently immobile monster.”

As they began shuffling back toward their makeshift camp to collect their belongings, Byleth couldn’t help but notice the mood had remained somber, compared to how they concluded side missions in the past. There was no unrestrained celebration or feelings of righteousness. Understandably the three Blue Lions were downcast that they had found not a single trace of Dimitri or Dedue. But as Claude strode amongst the group to check up on everyone, Byleth watched as everyone’s eyes flitted toward the silver sword now strapped to his waist. Though its form and splendor paled in comparison to Failnaught firmly gripped in his hand, nobody could unhear the Wind Caller’s words. _To save ourselves from breaking…_

“Ready, my friend?” Claude popped up seemingly from nowhere in front of Byleth, a remarkable feat given her size and ability to see much more of her surroundings than when she was at human height.

She wanted to ask him what he planned to do with the Sword of Begalta, if he noticed his peers’ watchful gazes following its hilt wherever he walked. But instead she simply nodded.

Claude, as if sensing her slight trepidation, laid his hand on the Crest of her chestplate again, absorbing some of its warmth, reminding them both of the night before. “You’ll be okay, Teach. We’ve got your back. …Take your time getting ready, alright? You can just hop on the caravan when you’re ready to go.”

She nodded again, earnestly this time, and Claude smiled back. Perhaps he was masking his fear, from himself as much as from her. But she believed him nonetheless. It was all she could do.

\--

Through Hanneman’s research and Manuela’s wheedling of Seteth, the professors were able to pinpoint the location of The Immovable at Lake Teutates. For their journey west the other three Lions—Ashe, Mercedes, and Annette—led the way through their territories, and the few Black Eagles who remained out of Edelgard’s grasp accompanied them in case any Adrestian factions attacked. Aside from circling around imperial encampments along the border, the trip was fairly straightforward, and Byleth was now mostly able to travel without aid. As they passed by villages, where the Lions stopped to replenish their resources and gather information, they caught wind of alarming rumors of the Adrestian takeover of Arianrhod, led by a traitorous member of the Kingdom no less. Even so, the Golden Deer pressed on, toward that ancient, sprawling lake nestled between untouched plots of dense forest. They could see a looming figure awaiting them at its center, having surrounded himself with phantom warriors in anticipation of their arrival. These they fought off easily, and quickly reached the giant creature.

The Immovable was, in fact, rather moved at the sight of Byleth. At this point she’d morphed further, her tail lengthening, limb muscles growing, body becoming streamlined. While she was transgressing away from humanness, at least she was gaining strength. Still, though, she was an ill-defined monster.

As her students clashed with the dragon, Byleth stood at the base of the stairs leading to his platform, fending off phantom warriors from reaching her students but otherwise still too uncoordinated to fight properly. And she suspected the Immovable had the same Crest-cancellation ability as the Wind Caller.

Yet she felt compelled to call out, “Indech?” The name slipped off her tongue before she even realized.

“Sothis…” the giant turtle rumbled, causing the earth to quake and topple the other students. “What has become of you? It appears your power cannot be properly contained by this once-human vessel…”

 _What does that mean?_ Simurgh called out from the skies, swooping low to allow Claude to fire an arrow.

The Immovable roared as Failnaught’s arrow lodged itself within the miniscule crevasse between his shell and the armor plating of his neck, finding a spot of uncovered flesh. Linhardt used the last of his magic to heal Leonie fully, who then leapt to finish off the beast and claim her prize. The Crest of Indech shone from the center of his shell. It seemed to reach out to Byleth, whose Crest of Flames shone in return. The Golden Deer halted their assault, watching the exchange of primordial divinities in awe.

“I understand now. Seiros wanted you to return, regain immortality, and claim Fódlan as your kingdom once again… but when the Crest tried to protect you from death five years ago, it turned you into this creature, and now it eats away at your body. Macuil and I have lived and will remain for thousands of years, but your fleshy container may last no longer than that of an ordinary human. Perhaps shorter…”

Lysithea stepped forth fearlessly. But when she asked, “Is there really nothing we can do to help our professor?” her defiance gave way to resignation, a familiar acknowledgment of early mortality.

The damage sustained began to erode his consciousness. “You came for more than information, did you not?” he rumbled. “Take this, The Inexhaustible… Let it serve as a reminder that Crests do not determine the future. And perhaps a curiosity about whether the future will have any use for Crests at all.”

As the turtle-dragon sank into the lake to rest, The Inexhaustible, aesthetic companion to the Sword of Begalta, materialized in Leonie’s outstretched hands. Linhardt ran a bony hand over it, a faint glow from his palm confirming its compatibility regardless of Crest. All fell silent, and the lake remained eerily still.

“Well, Professor,” Leonie finally broke the silence, “I was gonna hand this over to you, because that’s what Jeralt would’ve wanted. But, I’m not sure if, you know, you can really use it at the moment…”

Byleth smiled, at the thought of her father and at the sight of his protégée standing before her, the great size of the silver bow complementing her sturdy build. “I think he would deem you worthy of it. Take it.”

In a move wholly atypical for her, Leonie suddenly leapt at Byleth and tightly wrapped her arms around as much of her as she could hold. The other students quickly followed suit, some laughing at the uncharacteristic scene, others crying from what they’d just heard, all feeling a mix of joy and sadness. If she closed her eyes, Byleth could just imagine the combined strength and warmth of her students’ unified embrace as that of her father’s, holding her as a little girl against his sturdy, invincible body.

\--

The euphoria of conquering the two sacred beasts and recovering their treasures was short-lived. Reports of the Imperial Army marching upon the Great Bridge of Myrddin came too late for those at Garreg Mach to recall their soldiers scattered across Adrestia and gather in enough numbers to quell Edelgard’s forces. To make matters far worse, Count Gloucester broke his promise to Lorenz, betrayed the Alliance, and set Acheron upon the Church/Leicester army in a surprise pincer attack. The Golden Deer and Blue Lions barely made it out alive; the Black Eagle defectors were captured and rehomed.

Through it all Byleth couldn’t bear to look Claude or any of her beloved students in the eye. If only she were still human, still swift and strong, still able to wield a sword or cast even a single spell… if only Claude would end her miserable life, so she would cease being a liability on the battlefield! But the Sword of Begalta remained firmly at his side, never raised against her, only and rarely substituting for Failnaught when enemies came too close for comfort. As they fled back to the monastery, latent instincts for flight awoke in Byleth, and she was able to ferry any students who weren’t already accounted for by other mounted units. But so many were left behind. Byleth hurt for them all.

After a sleepless night of heated discussion at Garreg Mach, the enemy only days away, Claude and the Golden Deer decided their allegiance ultimately lay with what was left of the Leicester Alliance. Lorenz would remain with Garreg Mach and the Knights of Seiros, deeply resentful and guilty of his father’s actions, while the other Deer would proceed to Derdriu and protect the capital in all its symbolic glory. The Blue Lions felt their stake equally lay with Fhirdiad, overrun with Adrestian soldiers as it was. In this way the students said hasty goodbyes and made wavering promises to meet again, if only to reassure themselves that the war had to end someday. Nobody dared to openly hope to make it out alive.

\--

It would have been a beautiful day in the port city of Derdriu, with the sun beaming brightly down amidst a smattering of white clouds and the sea breeze rolling in through the streets, were it not for the deathly silence that had settled upon the city. Claude had ordered the evacuation of all citizens without exception, having had no choice but to squeeze them into neighboring towns that were already scarcely able to support the overflow of refugees from other parts of Leicester as well as Faerghus.

Claude and Simurgh had stationed themselves at the northeastern harbor, allowing them the advantage of surveillance over the entire city, while posting the Golden Deer throughout the city at strategic intersections. Even so, as she watched the Imperial Army, thousands strong, breach the hills and coalesce into a bloodred ocean at the city gates, Byleth was afraid.

“Hey, Teach,” Claude said suddenly, catching her eye. “No matter what happens… I’m with you.”

Byleth opened her mouth to speak, but instead she only emitted a plaintive howl, and in shame she quickly shut herself up. There was so much fear welling up inside her, her very soul felt as if it was becoming feral. Tears threatened to pool in her eyes, but a reassuring hand on her side grounded her. When she had the nerve to glance at him, Claude beamed a shaky smile back at her. The battle would be upon them soon, and yet he had the courage to muster a smile for her. She had to be stronger.

“They’re here!”

The scene unfolding before her was one of pure brutality. She could only watch as her Golden Deer and their battalions were enclosed by hundreds of suits of armor, wielding weapons still sporting the blood of those who perished across the continent in previous battles, marching in phalanx formation ahead of dark mages who paved with wicked fireballs paths of murder for the Adrestian army to advance. One by one, the crimson tide swallowed up their allies. Step by step, they encroached upon Byleth and Claude.

Suddenly Byleth could feel—no, she was taken over by the Crest of Flames pumping through her veins, threatening to burst forth from all her orifices. Her body expanded, her limbs grew, her wings stretched and her tail elongated, arching antlers burst forth from her temples and with them a blinding pain that filled her vision with red. Byleth roared, an ethereal thunder from another dimension, another era.

“Teach, what’s happening?” Claude shouted desperately, but her tail batted him away like a ragdoll. Simurgh bellowed a deafening roar and wrestled Byleth to the ground.

 _Little one, you must regain control of yourself, or you will destroy everything around you_!

“I… I can’t…!”

With a mighty thrust Byleth threw Simurgh off and strained her wings, flapping uncontrollably and wildly. She was filled with the rage of the Crest of Flames, with a thousand years of anguish, as Rhea’s memories of her pursuit of Nemesis and Sothis’s skeleton-turned-sword vicariously flooded her soul.

Then more recent memories began pushing back: Claude, embracing her at the Goddess Tower; Hilda, weaving flowers into her hair and around her tail; Ignatz, unabashedly painting her changing likeness without embellishing nor downplaying her morphed features; Marianne, gently brushing her hair with a curry comb when she hadn’t the energy to do so herself; Raphael, delighting at having an eating partner whose appetite and raw strength matched his own; Lysithea, spending hours by her side in the library as they both researched cures for Crests late into the night; Lorenz, greeting her each morning with the most vibrant rose he could find from the greenhouse; Leonie, pushing her harder to master her body, using the same words and fighting stance as her father; Hanneman, Manuela, the clergy and Knights of Seiros, seeing to her more mundane needs day in and out; the remaining Blue Lions and Black Eagles, before the fall of Myrddin, placing their unwavering trust in their professor toward the pursuit of justice.

Far deeper within her than the urge to _kill_ and _destroy_ and _avenge_ , there was one weak but pulsating thought: she must not harm her cherished friends and chosen family, no matter what.

“Claude,” Byleth gasped out in ragged breaths, “use the Sword of Begalta…”

Claude froze in his tracks. “I can’t do that, Teach… We can do this together! We can fight this—agh!”

Byleth had lashed out with a wing, now reinforced with primordial magic, sending him sprawling. Simurgh flew to his side, using her jaws to pull out the Sword of Begalta for him.

But Claude placed a hand on her snout and pushed her away. “No, Simurgh. I won’t ki—I won’t do that to her. I can’t. Teach is… Byleth is my friend!”

 _Friend…_ The scarlet hues of fury began to fade from Byleth’s vision, though her form remained enlarged. Her voice failed her, so she knelt in front of Claude and Simurgh, limbs growing weak. Claude placed a firm hand on her chest, letting the sign of her Crest simmer under his leather glove, grounding her presence within him. The heat of her anger receded, replaced by the warmth of the sun. Her sun…

Suddenly a cry rang out from across the harbor: “I-it’s the Immaculate One, the monster Edelgard spoke of! The false deity!” The Imperial Army had overrun Derdriu. En masse they shouted various rallying cries: “Kill the monster! Kill the Immaculate One! Destroy the Church of Seiros! For Adrestia!”

Arrows and fireballs rained down from the skies. Trapped at the tip of the harbor, there was nowhere for the three of them to run. She had to protect Claude and Simurgh, she could feel the blood pumping through her veins, the Crest in her chest roaring to life again. Emulating her last memories of Rhea, Byleth emitted a beam of light to counter the weapons. The arrows dissipated like mist, but a powerful dark force propelled the magic attacks forward, and she bore the brunt of their burning, toxic energies.

She was losing control again, and the dark magic festering in her wounds only accelerated her descent into madness. The fury of her Crest coursed through her monstrous form, compelling her forth amidst the numbing pain. She felt as if she were watching from afar, a detached observer, as this Sothis-Crest-dragon form swooped forth and annihilated dozens of humans, small and insignificant beneath her jaws and claws. This, she realized numbly, was the very definition of senseless murder. Unlike her mercenary days now she truly felt nothing, there was no justice, no reason, only rage, she couldn’t stop herself…

“Byleth, no!” _Byleth—aahh! Khalid!..._

Byleth whipped around and froze at the sight of Simurgh, huddled around a wounded Claude, wings scorched and arrows arching across her back. Claude coughed up blood, gripping an arrow jutting out from under his collarbone. Simurgh was heaving with pain. A pitch-black scorch mark ran across the marble bridge, seared across her reflective white back, an addition to the work of the mages’ assault.

“Claude? …Simurgh? Simurgh. Oh, no… no, no no No NO NO—"

 _Hush, little one… Or, not so little now, I suppose…_ Gasps for air replaced her usual low roars. _I have lived a very, very long life, serving generations of mighty Almyran rulers. If I were just a few decades younger, perhaps I could have withstood—_ she coughed and groaned as her wounds sapped at her lifeforce.

“Simurgh… I… I…” Byleth could barely choke out, but Simurgh raised a weary wing in response, vaguely toward Claude’s direction. For his part, even though he theoretically understood nothing, he seemed to be intently listening to his wyvern’s increasingly weak vocalizations, running a soothing hand along her back. Byleth lowered her head in mourning. Simurgh had led her to Claude, all those months ago, and now Byleth had led Simurgh to her death, by forcing her to exchange her life for that of her noble liege.

_That Khalid even now refuses to wield Begalta’s sword against you, that his faith in you remains steadfast in the wake of your destruction, and that I may pass on having defended to the end this life he has chosen for himself… it can only be considered an honor. Please, Byleth… take care of Khalid._

With that Simurgh laid her head in Claude’s lap and closed her eyes, surrounded by the warmth she had protected. The prince whispered to her in Almyran and stroked her tenderly. A shiver ran down the length of her body, as if fending off the cold. Finally as she stilled, her last breath escaped from between her jaws, a death rattle that slipped between Claude’s fingers and into the aether.

This loss was so visceral, so suddenly nostalgic, as if she’d lived it a thousand years before, that her Crest flared once again and projected itself through all her senses. This time, alongside the anger welled up a spring of melancholy that rose from her very core. She felt herself taking flight again, firing beam after beam of energy concentrated with emotion, obliterating any hint of those banners sporting two-headed eagles and all those unlucky enough to stand by it, scarcely avoiding her own allies watching aghast, mindlessly reducing Claude’s second home to dust and ashes, and Byleth knew that all he could do was watch helplessly under the protection of Simurgh, now deadweight, now gone, gone like Derdriu—

“Professor?”

Edelgard’s voice cut across the chaos and cacophony. Their Crests connected. And Edelgard’s Crest of Seiros exerted a mystical effect on Byleth. Just for an instant she thought she heard her mother’s voice…

Byleth dropped to the ground. Opening her eyes she saw the crimson no longer of wrath but only of the Emperor herself, one gloved hand raised to still the violence of the army behind her. The continent of Fódlan would soon be held in that palm, but right now Byleth saw the young, teenaged student she had once helped to nurture, the one who’d shared with Byleth her vulnerability and secret aspirations for a Crestless future, whose request for assistance she’d nonetheless turned down all those years ago. Edelgard trembled lightly before her, gripping Aymr so tightly that it shuddered in her grasp.

“That _is_ you, isn’t it?” she whispered, yet the words rang clearly in Byleth’s mind. “And Claude…”

Byleth finally choked out, “Claude, I’m sorry, Simurgh…” the Crest parching her throat. Claude shook his head in response. Raising the Sword of Begalta, he weakly tossed it over the edge and into the ocean.

Behind them Edelgard quietly instructed a messenger to inform Hubert of the conquest of Derdriu. Then, as the army began to reconsolidate, Edelgard alone stepped forward toward the two of them.

“Stop right there!” Hilda appeared, far too late, and haphazardly swung at Edelgard. But in Hilda’s weakened state, Edelgard deftly countered Freikugel’s haphazardly swing with a single blow from Aymr. Edelgard quickly disarmed Hilda, and the mythical axes clattered uselessly to the side. The rest of the Golden Deer quickly followed but, upon seeing Claude limp on the ground, offered no resistance.

Whether in a show of domination or affection in front of the Golden Deer, Edelgard approached Byleth without trepidation and placed a hand across the chest plate featuring the Crest of Flames. Their shared genealogies glowed in gentle acknowledgement of each other. Otherwise nobody moved.

“Rhea did this to you, did she not?” It was more of a statement than a question, but Byleth could only grunt her affirmation, unable to explain her ambivalence toward her savior and murderer. In response Edelgard hesitantly ran a hand through Byleth’s pale-green mane, that last vestige of her humanity.

Turning toward the gathered Deer, Edelgard declared, “If you cannot bring yourselves to condemn the injustices that Rhea and the Church of Seiros have wrought upon Fódlan, at least you can lay your eyes upon the wretched creature into which she has transformed our beloved professor, with the likely consequence of shortening her lifespan, if my intuitions are correct.” At this, a few gasps escaped from the Golden Deer, with the memory of The Immovable’s words not too far in the past. “I promise to spare the Alliance territories from further razing if you surrender here. Can I expect your future cooperation?”

Two women immediately stepped forward. Lysithea’s decision was of little surprise, having been close to Edelgard before the war, but Marianne’s caused confusion, evoking ardent rebuttals from Hilda.

Directly approaching Byleth and Edelgard, Marianne began, “May the Goddess protect…” but realized the irony. Then, she continued, “I confess, it still strikes fear in me to see our professor like this, if only because I am forever haunted by the thought that my Crest, too, will transform me into the monster I’ve always thought I was… Edelgard, if you promise to banish Crests for good, then I shall aid your cause.”

With the Leicester Alliance’s two most powerful mages now committed to Adrestia, the other Golden Deer buckled much more easily. They assented equally to protect their homes and for their professor. Claude and Edelgard exchanged glances. An entire conversation seemed to take place between the two dreamers. But they mutually acknowledged verbally that with Byleth’s acquiescence, the Blue Lions likely heed the Adrestian emperor’s edicts, and thus spare Faerghus from further destruction as well.

“And what are your plans, former Duke Riegan?” Edelgard inquired. “You’ll likely be unable to show your face in Leicester territory for some years to come, even with the support of your fellow fauns.”

Claude smiled, the first and only smile Edelgard could believe was genuine. “I’ll leave the revolutionizing here to you, Emperor. For our ultimate goals aren’t mutually incompatible… but I’ve also got some loose ends to tie at home—the one on the other side of the mountains. You’ll come too, won’t you, Teach?”

“If Byleth comes with me, we’ll be more likely to find a cure for her… condition,” Edelgard dissented. “My forces are capturing Seteth and Flayn as we speak, and I have Rhea in my possession in Enbarr—”

“Oh, that would’ve been nice for everyone to know,” Claude bit back. “Your soldiers tried to kill Byleth and me because they thought _she_ was the Immacuate One.” As he glanced back at Simurgh’s limp form he let more poison lace his words than Edelgard could fathom.

The other Deer nodded in agreement. But Byleth was torn with regret, for hurting Claude, for Simurgh... If her Crest had slowly eroded her ability to speak normally, then her sorrow had completely stolen her ability to speak at all. Her chest felt constricted, as if the weight of her murders were crushing her heart. The humans watched in awe as she underwent a final transformation: her face extended into a reptilian snout, the scales along her chest and belly solidified into dense plates of bony armor, her wings seemed to span the sky. She wasn’t sure if it was painless or if she was simply numb. Byleth was even bigger than Simurgh now, though she still seemed childlike in size compared to the Wind Caller or the Immovable. Edelgard held a hand to her astonished expression, retreating a step, and Byleth turned away in shame.

As if reading her mind, Claude approached Byleth, overcoming any hesitation and pain as he limped forth and laid his head against her chest. The Crest glowed, muted underneath the new osteoderm.

“I know you’re hurting, Byleth, in so many ways,” he murmured. “You probably want to run away, to hide your face and your scars and trauma forever. You probably don’t even want to see my face anymore because of all the painful reminders I’d bring. I know you’re hurting, even if you don’t. But I promised I’d always be on your side, no matter what… And as long as this war is ravaging the continent and Adrestian soldiers are out to strike down everything that looks anything like The Immaculate One, and as long as you still don’t have complete control over your new powers, it’ll be just as dangerous for you to be in Fódlan as it is for me.

“So if after the war, you still want to disappear forever, or if you want to seek out Rhea for answers or revenge, have it your way. But right now… I want you to come back with me, where it’ll be safe for you to roam freely. Nobody will mistake you for Simurgh, but nobody will shoot you down for it either. And speaking of which—” here Claude cracked a painfully wistful smile, “—I’ll need some help repatriating Simurgh. There’s nobody she would’ve trusted to carry her body except me, my parents, and… you.”

Simurgh… Claude… Edelgard… her Golden Deer, her chosen family back at Garreg Mach, her friends scattered across the continent… part of her really was ready and willing to leave them all behind, as Claude had so aptly verbalized for her. But what would that accomplish, except further suffering for all involved? Would she be even more of a bother out of their reach? As long as a cure remained a distant fantasy, she would never be able to return to society on her own, never mind to her previous life of mercenary freedom that she still relived in her sleep; but if cure wasn’t an option, there was still the option of care, one that she was gradually realizing had always been present. And if Claude held the key to a future where that would continue to be possible, if he truly meant to stay by her side no matter what she “really” was…

Byleth turned to Edelgard, but when she attempted to speak only a rolling warble came out. But her Crest ignited mid-air, and Edelgard’s two Crests lit up in reply as if in understanding. Edelgard reached out tentatively, touching Byleth’s surprisingly soft snout as she lowered herself to meet the human’s lavender gaze. Byleth closed her own eyes and leaned in, rubbing her head into Edelgard’s chest. Edelgard was startled briefly, but she overcame her fear and longing to embrace her precious professor, fulfilling a wish formed over five years ago.

When they parted, the young emperor admitted reluctantly, “It’s settled, then. Byleth will accompany you, where you _will_ keep her safe, and we shall correspond regarding Rhea once this war is over.”

“You got it, Edelgard,” Claude flashed one of his pre-war smiles and extended his hand to her. “As long as I’m alive, no more harm will come to our favorite Teach ever again. I swear.”

Historians would symbolize their handshake as the dissolution of the Leicester Alliance. As Edelgard returned west to complete her domination of what was left of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the Golden Deer set out to repair their smoldering half of Fódlan—except Claude and Byleth, who disappeared further eastward, and remained hidden to all through the end of the war.

\--

A few months later, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus fell, and the vanguard of the Blue Lions scattered to the winds. A few found their way to Edelgard’s side as knights and instructors, others became mercenaries cleaning up after outbreaks of bandits, still others sought quiet refuge in the few remaining holy spaces permitted by the Empire. Prince Dimitri and his Duscurian vassal Dedue were never found.

Not long after the consolidation of Fódlan under the Adrestian banner, Emperor Hresvelg X and her loyal shadow of House Vestra were sighted traveling with their most trusted Black Eagles to the easternmost mountains of Hrym. At the same time, a lone man on a white mythical dragon crossed Fódlan’s Throat with the blessings of House Goneril, and they followed the Black Eagles into the hidden city of Shambhala. Though it was never formally recorded in the written texts of Adrestian history, folklore shared amongst the descendants of the Golden Deer claimed that it was their favorite friendleader and professor who came to the aid of the Emperor and sealed the fate of Those Who Slither(ed) in the Dark.

Shortly thereafter, Almyra was unified by King Khalid and his beloved dragon Byleth, whose lustrous scales, sea-green mane, and branching antlers made her quite unlike any other creature the world had ever seen, and only served to solidify the pair’s budding reputations as legendary. Emperor Edelgard recognized Almyra, along with Brigid, Dagda, and Duscur as sovereign, equal nations. Merchants and artisans trained by the Kirsten family fostered economic relationships between these countries, while mercenaries bearing the Pinelli name fought off bandits and nobles alike attempting to prey upon the new trade routes. While the Gloucester name faded, its patronage of the Victor school of arts enshrined its aesthetic legacy. So, too, did the Ordelia and Edmund territories cease to exist, but the accomplishments of their leaders ushered in a golden age of medicine. Crest research soon became a relic of the past, ceding ground to newer sciences and technologies.

Though Khalid was much beloved by his people, he was none too reticent to pass down his position to a new leader, whose claim to fame lay not in bloodshed or heritage but capability and wit. Scarcely a week had elapsed after the coronation when Khalid and Byleth were sighted first in New Derdriu and Fhirdiad soon after, paying tribute to those lost in the war, human and nonhuman alike, and then variously throughout and outside Fódlan over the following decades. Even though no longer for diplomacy, their trips to Enbarr were still publicized through Edelgard’s reign until her retirement. Everywhere they went, onlookers could never quite make sense of the human talking with the dragon, but they seemed to understand each other, and one could only suppose that their relationship was too profound to fathom.

\--  


As Crests faded from public consciousness and the remains of Garreg Mach Monastery crumbled into ruins, so too did the last generation of its Crest-bearing students vanish among the annals of history. The very last recorded story of the first mixed-race King of Almyra and his beloved Dragon came from not Adrestrian court records or Almyran legal scripts, however, but in fact from the apprentice to the head gardener of the Hanging Gardens of Fódlan’s Throat, who was hidden while trimming a hedge and overheard their final conversation.

“We’ve both managed to come this far, huh? I’ve told you before how I always thought it’d be a miracle if I made it to 25, what with all the poisonings and battles and stuff, but here we are, four times that.”

Over the decades nobody had ever figured out how Khalid was able to understand his partner, but he earnestly nodded at the appropriate times between her growls and clicks, and though his features had aged, his bright eyes always sparkled like emeralds whenever she spoke to him. Occasionally Byleth’s chest plate would also glow, projecting an eerie symbol whose meaning was lost to time.

“I know, my love; I miss them too. Every day. It’s been hard without our friends beside us. Even Edelgard turned out to be good company outside of Fódlan-Almyra roundtables.”

Byleth emitted a plaintive moan, gently shoving her head into his chest.

“You too? But it’s long past a new dawn. It’s a completely new era now. I used to think I was a quick learner, but I can’t keep up with all these newfangled technologies. I wonder what our old friends would’ve made of this world of Crestless, magicless science and international megalopolises.”

The dragon seemed to gaze at someplace faraway, flicking her tail with curiosity.

“I had the same idea,” Khalid smiled fondly at his oldest and dearest companion, who chirped a few times back at him. “Think you can handle one last flight, my friend?”

Byleth purred and laid her body against the earth. When they were younger Khalid could easily swing himself onto her back with a running leap and she would achieve lift with a single stroke of her wings. Now she extended her wizened wing for him to use like a stepladder. Once he was securely perched between her shoulder blades, she stretched her wings and crouched. They had lost their friends, their homelands, and their memories, one by one day by day, to the unrelenting march of time; but it would never take away their freedom to lose themselves in each other.

For a moment it seemed as if Byleth might not have the strength to take off. She was slow to rise, her wings seemed to falter slightly. And this voyage, they both knew, would be a long one.

But then Khalid leaned forward, as much as his body could support him, and called out gently to her, “I am so, so lucky to be here with you right now. I love you, Byleth, with everything I am. Thank you for staying by my side all this time…”

With a mighty roar that shook the heavens, Byleth seemed to radiate with flaming energy. Then, with a powerful beat of her wings, she launched into the skies, affirming with all her heart her love for Khalid.

  


Besides the gardener’s apprentice in Fódlan’s Throat, citizens across not only Fódlan and Almyra, but even the far-flung reaches of Duscur, Dagda, and Brigid all claimed to have seen a large white dragon with a human rider, their shared silhouette briefly eclipsing the sun. These seemingly tall tales provided much fodder for future scholastic debate over their veracity and inspired countless works of art.

Nonetheless, that was the last anyone ever saw of Byleth and Khalid, for their bodies were never recovered. Whether because of or despite this fact, there remains a legend a thousand years later that on nights of the new moon, if you look closely, you might just catch in its shadow a glimmer of white, a shimmer of gold; from the Sublime Heavens, two Fallen Stars.


End file.
